Racing
Blushing me
effrey Barnard
I am in anatomical contortions and Orthopaedic agonies. When I hear them say and read them state, so far away from the event itself, that the Derby is already a cut and dried affair which will certainly be won by the French champion, Blushing Groom, I find my tongue in my cheek, my fingers crossed, my eyebrows raised and the hair on the back of my neck standing up and coming out in sympathy with My adrenalin. How can they be so sure? Have they never heard of upsets, accidents, horses getting shut in, bi.,oxed in or fits of temperament on the day? F or that matter, would you risk an entire Month's salary on the competence of the highly competent Henri Samani to negotiate the tricky Epsom course as well as the P-tlight English jockeys, leaving aside the incomparable Lester Piggott?
The thing is, it's not talking horses that
Worry _ in any case, Blushing Groom isn't a talking horse, he's a cracker it's talking people. Nowadays a horse only has lo draw a deep breath, never mind run a tairly decent trial for a big race, and the Fnwardly bookmaking fraternity bring him In four or five points. I've read of very ordiarY horses doing a half-speed canter up the imekilns at Newmarket one spring morning and the next thing you know is that the wires from that town to London are buzzing Zith exaggerations and that the wretched f°rse M question has suddenly become iavourite for every race except the Boat is ace. (And now that the richer trainers ';a1,'e started exercising horses in special lkwimming pools, I suppose that the Boat sibaitceityis.) not beyond the bounds of pos,s.Incidentally, it's pertinent to note that ri.lushing Groom's sire, Red God, has never sired anything that has won over 11/2 miles in a7iPfompany. Red God's best progeny have n„" 'een sprinters. In fact, his only classic off so far was Red Lord who on last Le,ar's French 2000 Guineas. Apart from a: us h ing Groom there's Piggott's likely 0°, not Be My Guest, trained by Vincent N.rrien, and there's also Peter Walwyn's h,.ignt Before to say nothing of the other ,77entY-five or so horses that will be pr. going to I'm not knocking Blushing Groom u couldn't all I'm saying is that there are til'are things in heaven and hell.
Anyway, I shall not be going to the Derby -"less everything erything is just right for me on the I've had some terrible Derbies and!
(7.fm't mean especially from a financial point E view although I have bled as much on ,..11)180no Downs as any man in my time. No, w at I mean about things being just right is getting there in good tithe, getting there in a car and not on that travelling lunatic asylum
which is the train, but avoiding the ghastly traffic jams, and cadging an invitation to someone's box to avoid being trampled underfoot by 100,000 people. Also,! refuse to wear a morning suit as I look daft enough already in my usual clothes to raise laughs from booksmakers. Considering my interest sorry, I mean obsession in racing it wasn't until Charlottown's Derby that I actually witnessed the brutes in the flesh. I did my usual thing. I went down there with £100, a gigantic sum of money in those days as they say (and for that matter I couldn't half do with another ton now), intending to shove the lot on Charlottown, so impressed had I been with its running in the Lingfield Derby Trial Stakes. Needless to say (then why say it, idiot?) I changed my mind five minutes before the off and did my lot. After the last race, I remember standing by a fish and chip stall crying. No one noticed, since it was pouring with rain, and in a trance I slowly put cold Pieces of cod in my mouth and watched the Rolls-Royces glide majestically away from the course. Then there was Nijinsky's Derby. One of the racing certainties of all time, it wasn't good enough for me as far as the price went so I hunted around for a long shot to beat that and came away at the end of the day with a fractured pocket. It was a lovely day though and sunshine always alleviates impecunity.
One of my most successful Derbys was the one Blakeney won. I was in Barcelona on that occasion and couldn't think how the hell to get on the animal. It-struck me that the British Consulate might allow me to use their blower for a good reason. I told them that! had to call London as I'd just received a telegram saying my next of kin, whoever that was at the time, was about to snuff it. They were very nice and I managed to get through to Victor Chandler and have a bet. Mill Reef was another Derby winner I. went to see, running the last mile and a half uphill to the course because of the damned
traffic, and he'll always stick in my mind beeause I was absolutely convinced he wouldn't win. But still, the money was recouped. That October in Paris, on Arc de Triomphe day, I met an Irish trainer who
thought likewise about Mill Reef for that
race and he laid him till kingdom come. That was lovely. After the pay-out, another Irish trainer who had backed Mill Reef, Mick O'Toole, bought the entire stock of Dom Perignon in the paddock bar. Last year, I'm glad to say I tipped Empery in this journal and backed him myself ante-post at 20-1. This year, and it's only five weeks away, God knows what I'll know, but I do know I will get some sort of information from France by then. If it's not Blushing Groom, then I wouldn't mind bet
ting it'll be something from the Chantilly stable of that maestro Alec Head. Now
there's a civilised man. When I told him I'd lost a few bob on his Derby hope Bourbon, he sent me a bottle of the stuff by return of post.
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